


Evil Author Day 2017

by Eff_Dragonkiller



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Rurouni Kenshin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Hope, International Fanworks Day 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 16:12:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9769802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eff_Dragonkiller/pseuds/Eff_Dragonkiller
Summary: In honor of Internation Fanworks Day/Week, some works in progress for your enjoyment.Hope Chest-Hermione knelt in front of the chest, biting her tongue each time she went to address a man who wasn't there. The chest was so full of Potter Family magic, Hermione swore she should be able to turn around and see Harry, mindlessly combing through the nicknacks, just waiting on her.Breathing Fire-People were people. Some people were OtherKind, Youkai and Sidhe, powerful and immortal. Some people were human, passionate but fleeting. Then there were Dragons. It was Kaoru's job to make sure they all got along.How Corrupt-How Corrupt does a society need to be for Sentinels & Guides to abandon it? Why would Harry ever want to join it then?





	1. Hope Chest

**Author's Note:**

> You know how this works: comment and vote for your favorite. Maybe it'll get finished.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione knelt in front of the chest, biting her tongue each time she went to address a man who wasn't there. The chest was so full of Potter Family magic, Hermione swore she should be able to turn around and see Harry, mindlessly combing through the nicknacks, just waiting on her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how this works: comment and vote for your favorite. Maybe it'll get finished.

**Hermione** **’s Hope Chest**

Silver spoons, wooden toy trucks, and a green canvas bag the color of puke. Hermione blew the stubborn fizzy bangs out of her way as she continued to look down at the selection on the table. Six rubbish sales today. Four last week, three estate sales in the last months and still nothing she would want to give Harry for his birthday.

“Find anything yet, Hermione?” Her mother gave a gentle smile at the girl’s disgruntled scowl. “Don’t give up yet. There’s at least one more spot to check on the list before we head back home.”

“Is it even worth it?” The young witch burrowed into her mother’s side. “I could make a scrapbook for him, use pictures that I already have. Or get friends to write memories into it. That wouldn’t cost much. Or I could give him an experience! Like take him on a picnic or to an event, right? A present doesn’t have to be a thing!”

“And you don’t think Harry will count the cost of the ticket or supplies?” Hannah Granger laughed lightly.

“No, he would ,” Hermione huffed. “That stubborn foolish man is giving me a headache from across the country! 1 Galleon, five pounds sterling, that’s the cap Harry put on the price of his birthday present. Which is ridiculous! You can’t get lunch for five pounds!”

“I think you’re approaching this all wrong.” The muggle woman said as she directed her daughter back to their parked auto. “Instead of thinking about what you can’t get for five pounds, or even what you wished you could get your friend, think about the challenge he’s given you! It won’t just be you and the Weasley boy at Harry’s birthday correct?”

“No,” Hermione strapped herself in, “many of our friends and their families that survived the war will be there too. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley have opened their home for the party because Grimmauld place still holds too many memories. And I don’t blame Harry, I cringe at just the thought of going back there, let alone all the memories it must hold of Sirius.”

“So, your challenge, Hermione Granger- should you chose to accept it- is to find Harry a gift so incredible, while within his specified budget, that it knocks his socks off!” Hannah glanced at Hermione, a small smile curled her lips as she leaned her head against the passenger side window. “Now, the question remains: what would mean the most to Harry?”

The answer wasn’t hard. After being best friends for more than eight years and fighting a war together, Hermione knew Harry as well as she knew herself. That wasn’t to say that there weren’t depths or reaches of his heart and mind that weren’t a mystery to her, there were, she just didn’t let that stop her. The day she stopped learning about Harry Potter, learning to be the best friend ever to him, was the day Hermione Granger laid down a died. It wasn’t going to happen without a fight.

 

Harry wanted a family. He wanted people to hold close to himself, that would always love him, never forsake him, and die before betraying him. Hermione tried. She tried her very hardest to offer her friend the unconditional love and support he sought, but she knew that the scars and bruises from his life and from the war would never completely heal. And one day, soon if Ginny had any say about it, there would come a point when it was no longer her place to offer and seek the unconditional support and love to Harry Potter. That place would be taken by his spouse, and Hermione ached at even the thought of it.

 

That a woman would come in and replace her in his life. He would look first for help and approval from someone else, and Hermione would be left with whatever was left. Well, whatever was left and Ron Weasley. Honestly though, Ron had left during the darkest part of the war. Just walked out because he was jealous and stupid and foul, there would never be a time when she forgot that. Hermione couldn’t imagine that if that was how he’d reacted during the war, when the consequences of failure was death, that he would be any better when the consequence of failing a marriage would be sympathy for being roped in by an unreasonable witch.

 

That was a day far in the future though, certainly not close enough to worry about now.

 

“We’re here, Hermione.”

 

Their auto had pulled up to a rather long and out of the way drive, like something out of a fairy tale. The gravel roadway, the hedges and wind breaks on either side of the road, the grean pastures and meadows that she could just barely see through the trees, no where was this perfect.

 

“Where are we?”

 

“The former estate of the Conway family. They were caught in a rather large corruption case and scandal earlier this year, while you were still cleaning up from that mad man. Most of their valuables will be solid at auction to pay back the Crown, but some things not as prestigious were left for this sale. “

 

“Oh, I don’t know, Mum.” Hermione murmured as they found a parking spot on the lawn of the large mansion. “I couldn’t possibly afford something from here.”

 

“Just keep your eyes open. You never know what you might find.”

 

Hannah Granger was a dentist by trade and there was nothing wrong with that. It was a fine job and if most in the Wizarding world couldn’t understand half of what Hermione said when she talked about the health and care of teeth, well, most of them didn’t even understand half of what she was saying when it was about magic. So Hermione never put to much stock in what they thought. The truth of the matter, though, was that Hannah Granger weaned her daughter on books because she herself was in love with history.

 

Items that were simple old, others that were antiques, new reproductions of old things, and antique reproductions; Hannah Granger could spot and explain them all. This was not the first estate sale that she had been to, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. There were an untold number of tiny treasures that could be found in the yards of the ignorant masses. A startling number of defunct wizarding detris too.

 

Hermione couldn’t even estimate how many items she’d seen sold in the muggle world for pennies were the collectables of the Wizarding world. She had finished out Ron’s chocolate frog card collection one year with antiques. Both boys had been stunned when all she’d done was shrug at the price. Of course, it had only been three pounds for ‘silly cards’. There was every chance that something truly magical might have landed in the unknowing laps of this wealthy muggle family.

 

So Hermione checked closets and bedrooms, downstairs rooms and upstairs rooms looking for some forgotten piece of history that she could snare.

 

Past tables filled with the odds and ends of gears and wires, past where a whole fleet of fancy automobiles were arranged with their bonnets up just waiting for some overzealous man-child to break his bank account on, was the property’s garage. In the back far corner, behind a bucket of rusted fishing rods and canvas, sat a beautiful antique chest.

 

The chest itself was nothing particularly special, different from the one that Hermione had taken to Hogwarts for years only because her school trunk had a flat top and this one was domed. The leather and brass fittings were of better quality and the wood of the chest itself was probably more expensive than her simple school trunk; none of that was what drew the young witch’s attention though.

 

The chest had magic. Magic strong enough that in the house of a muggle it teased across Hermione’s senses and tempted her to it’s very location.

 

Hermione was suddenly certain that she needed to give Ginny Weasley a very sincere and heartfelt apology for ever thinking for even a moment that she wasn’t strong enough to resist Voldemort’s diary. If the first year Weasley daughter had been tempted even a tenth of what Hermione at that moment felt in the muggle garage, than it was impressive she coould’ve even attempted to throw it away.

 

It was strange, after years of fighting Voldemort in all his incarnations, and his death eaters, and being exposed to soo much different magic, particularly the locket, Hermione’s ability to throw off compulsion charms was almost as good as Harry’s. So wrong on earth would _her magic_ be helping to ensare her toward the chest?

 

Coming to rest on her knees before the antique chest, Hermione briefly hit the old box with a scouring charm. As the charm wiped away decades, perhaps centuries, of dirt and grime and dust it wiped away Hermione’s nerves as well. She relaxed back onto her knees with a laugh and a smile. There on the front of the chest, where a lock might have been on one made by a muggle, was the Potter family crest. No wonder her magic pulled her to this forgotten peice of wizarding history.

 

Harry, as the last of the House of Potter and it’s Patriarch, was brim full of the Potter family magic. Every time since her best friend’s magical maturity that she sat next to him, leaned up against him, helped him with a spell, a ritual, a magic work, she was felt up, felt out, and nearly seduced by the powerful and pure Potter magic. Almost a year from his magical maturation, Hermione was almost as intimately knowledgeable about the feel and state of her friend’s magic than she was her own. Her knowledge of Harry was probably considered obscene by some of the more traditional matrons in wizarding society, Hermione wouldn’t give it for the world.

 

Which was quite simply the reason for being drawn to the chest. It had been sealed and preserved with the Potter family magic and Hermione, conciously or not, simply could not leave without it.

 

“What do you know about magic, little missy?” The old groundskeeper said with a quirked smile, rubbing grease and dirt from his hands with an old rag.

 

“Why do you ask?” Hermione asked, wiping tears of overwhelming emotion from her cheeks.

 

“’Cause I’ve lived here all my life, a good deal of years, and for all the lives of my father, my grandfather, and my great-grandfather that chest has never been moved. Some might even say that it’s invisible except to a select few.” He watched her, “How can you see it, Little Missy?”

 

“I don’t know that you’d believe me if I told you,” Hermione laughed, not mentioning or even thinking that even alluding to magic in the muggle world could be a crime. “I know him,” she said finally, when the groundskeeper made it obvious that he was still waiting for an answer, and she dragged with fingers over the indentions and engravings of the Potter family crest. “The Last Potter. He’s my best friend.”

 

“Reckon, you should give it back to him then.” The old man smiled. “ Seeing as it belongs to him.”

 

“Oh, I couldn’t.” Hermione said brushing dirt and dust off her clothes. “I don’t have the type of money this chest would be worth.”

 

“Who said anything about buying it?” he grinned and shook his head at Hermione’s scandalized look. “I wasn’t jokin’ about the invisibility part. The auditors didn’t add the value of the chrest to the sale of the estate because they couldn’t see it. If you can see the chest, and it belongs to your friend, than just take the bloody thing.”

 

It took far less effort than Hermione would ever want to admit, to chose to steal the chest. Regardless of the chest’s magical nature, it belonged to this estate and Hermione had no intention of compensating them for the rare treasure. She leaned down to shift the chest out of the corner but it wouldn’t move. The young witch tugged one way and then the other, pulling at corners and edges, begging and pleading and swearing for the chest to move. But it didn’t budge.

 

Hermione blew the stubborn bangs from her face, contemplating the chest in front of her. There was no way that she was just going to leave it, so the giving up was certainly not an option. And only a little bit because Hermione Granger had her pride as the Most Brilliant Witch of the Age to consider. This chest contained some piece of Potter magic and history and she would level all of her considerable skill and knowledge to be able to give it to him.

 

So, Hermione leaned back on her heels, what was her next option?

 

Pulling her wand out from her sleeve, Hermione took a deep breath a murmured a spell that had saved her life more than once during the war. The Ward Matrix. Swirls of color and shapes swam into her vision, coded knowledge for arithmancy and rune casting. The foundation of curse breaking was built on this one spell, Hermione figured it had, and would, put her in good stead, because if the chest hadn’t moved, been touched, or even seen in the last two hundred years, than there was something else going on here.

 

There was the swirling red and black pattern of the Potter family magic right up front in the matrix. Whoever had placed the magic on the chest was just as entrenched in the Potter magic as Harry was. It swirled and coelessed, swirled and coelessed in a repeating pattern against the spell matrix that was familiar and new all at the same time. This was a _Sleeping Beauty Spell_ , a ward with conditions inset. Only if you met the conditions set forth by the spell, would the ward break. They were notoriously difficult and draining to use.

 

Pressing her fingertips to the tip of her wand, Hermione sliced them open and pressed them to the crest on the chest. “I, Hermione Granger, so swear upon my magic, that I shall return this chest to the last scion of the House of Potter within the fortnight. If the chest will allow me to move it.”

 

A flash of magic sealed the vow and trunk groaned as though complaining about moving for the first time in a long time. Hermione ignored the sound as she stepped back and swished her wand. Once for the featherlight, second for shrinking. Then she picked up the tiny box, looked like it belonged at the foot of a bed for a doll, packed it away in her holdall and went to find her mother.

 

Hannah Granger was out on the far lawn, enjoying the light summer weather, perusing a selection of antique linens with hand embroidery on them.

 

“Why would you want linens with someone else monogram on them?” The witch asked peering over her mother’s shoulder at the cream and off-white handkerchiefs.

 

“Hermione!” Her mother shrieked, jumping and spinning from fright a hand pressed against her heart to keep her chest in it’s place. “Don’t do that, you silly girl!”

 

“Sorry,” Hermione said, unrepentant. “But really, why buy handkerchiefs with someone else’s initials on it, that you honestly wouldn’t want to use because of age anyways? You’d need to boil them with bleach just to be sure they’re not carrying anything contagious, and they’re so thin they’d probably disolve in the pot.”

 

“Oh,” her mother complained, “but look at the adorable little designs! This one has the cutest little mouse, and look this one has roses!”

 

“Just say no.” Hermione tugged her mother away from the antique cloth. “Besides, I don’t think those nice pale pink flowers originally went with that design, don’t want you catching the plague.”

 

Hannah snorted, “they were old but they weren’t that old. But you think it was blood?” Hermione hummed in agreement as she pulled her mother in a meander through the tables of nick-nacks. “Perhaps tuberculosis, though. That would certainly put a damper on the day. Did you find anything for your friend?”

 

“Mhmm,” Hermione nodded still walking purposefully back towards the auto. Everyone in a while she stopped to look at something, or an item caught the eye of her mother and the woman just had to stop and check it out. As annoying as it was when all Hermione wanted to do was get in the vehicle and drive away from the auction very fast, it kept them from standing out in the crowd. With the charmed trunk burning a hole in her pocket, she didn’t really want to be stopped.

 

“Alright,” Hannah Granger said, tightening her seat belt and backing out of parking lot. “I assume that you have a good reason for not paying for whatever it is you took?”

 

“There was a chest covered in wards in the back of the garage with the Potter crest on it. Felt like Harry should have been in the room with me.”

 

“Hmm, that’s nice dear.” Her mother kept her attention on the road, “Now what didyou steal for Harry again?”

 

The Hope Chest sat on the coffee table of the Granger House, just a fancy little box almost too small to hold even a pair of earrings. Delicate and beautiful in the way all antiques were, artifacts of history, most too old or too sacred to touch or use beyond display. Not the Potter chest though. The sheer amount of magic that was suffused in every square centimeter of wood and metal and leather created an aura of its own for the ancient item. Hermione sat down in front of the chest in her parent's living room and relaxed, against her will, for the first time in months. It felt like her friend was in the room with her, felt like she should be able to turn, to address him, regardless of the fact that he was several hours away by muggle travel.

  


She felt safe for the first time in months.

  


"It's not going to do tricks, is it?" Roger Granger asked with a smile, leaning against the door to the living room with a smile hidden in his coffee cup. "If it is, would you ask it to wait until after I've got the video camera set up? We could be a hit on the internet for the 'Magic Trunk Show'."

  


"I don't understand how you can even see it!" His wife rolled her eyes, "I sat in the car with that thing and every other minute I was asking Hermione: 'What was it you got for Harry again?' The magic on that box is a piece of work, I'll say that."

  


It was true, regardless of the fact that Hermione had sworn to return the chest to the Potter family, the magic in the trunk itself was so deeply imbedded that she had actually written a note on her mother's hand in permanent marker so that she wouldn't have to keep reiterating the same thing over and over again. It seemed it worked, at least until the marker wore off.

 

“Dad’s technically a squib; he has magic, he just can’t use it.” Hermione peeled her eyes away from the tiny chest. “Which means he can interact with and observe magic that otherwise wouldn’t be seen by nonmagicals.” She blushed at the bemused looks her parents sent her, none of this was new to them. “Sorry.”

 

“What did we tell you?” Hannah Granger stepped forward to embrace her daughter, “Never apologize for being yourself.”

 

“What’s that line?” Roger Granger smiled as he joined the family hug. “Always be yourself-”

 

“-Unless you can be a Dragon, than always be a dragon.” Harry Potter stood in the entrance to the Granger’s living room with a mischevious smile on his face as all three of them jumped in surprise.

 

“Harry!” Hermione stepped forward to meet her best friend with a solid smack to his arm. “You were supposed to be gone until Wednesday! What happened?”

 

Enveloped in the young Lord Potter’s arms was like cuddling under warm blankets on a cold wet day. Safe and secure, no harm could get to Hermione while she stood there.

 

“We never left.” Harry grimaced. The arms wrapped around Hermione clung for a moment before slowly losening. She didn’t want to let go. “Or at least I never left, I did send Remus, Dora, and Teddy on without me. There was a problem when I went to the bank to claim my lordship. Shite that I didn’t want to deal with but had no choice. We ended up ritually merging the Black and Potter Houses. You are know looking at the Earl of Blackmoore, Lord Potter-Black.”

 

Harry raised his right hand to show off a thick silver ring with a large ruby the color of blood. On one side of the stone was the Potter crest and on the other was that of the Blacks. Just being exposed, so close to the ring made her breath catch as the light surrounding it _bent_.

 

There was no little magic in that ring. With the tiny box sitting on the coffee table and the ring in her face, both with indescribably power magic, Hermione was given to wondering if the Potter family ever did _anything_ small. Because as much as the BLack family crest was on the ring and the setting itself was more of Blackmoore than Potter, Harry and the ring itself still exuded Potter magic like it was sweat from the skin.

 

“You didn’t just merge houses, Harry.” Hermione whispered, her attention still on his right hand. “You absorbed the magic of the Black house, didn’t you?”

 

A flush stole across Harry’s cheeks, and he fisted his hair in a hand. “Yes.”

 

“What’s the difference?” Roger asked.

 

“The nature of magic,” Hermione stepped away from her best friend, scooping up the small chest before he could notice it. “The Black family is primarily dark, and the Potter Family is primarily light. Going forward, the House of Potter and all who owe fealty to it will be _grey_ because by nature the magic of the two houses mix and blend, it cannot live divided within its patriarch.” Hermione gave her parents a brief smile, not touching at all on how the magical instincts of a dark wizard differed to an exgagerated degree from those of a light wizard. And the instincts of a grey wizard were different still from a light or a dark. The distinction would be lost on them. “It could take a thousand or more years before the family magic polarizes to one side or another again.”

 

“Well,” Hannah raised her glass to the wizard in question, “that doesn’t sound like such a bad thing. Balance is important.”

 

“Perhaps not.” Harry said with a tight nod, “but anyways, I was wondering if you wanted to come to the old grim place a little early. I could tell you all you missed?”

 

“Oh,” Hermione nodded, running to the stairs, “I don’t know why you didn’t ask me before!”

 

Roger rolled his eyes, “Somethings require privacy, Hermione.”

 

“Really, Dad. You should know better.” Hermione placed her bag down on the floor in front of the new lord. “Harry has no secrets from me!”

 

Harry paused and then nodded with a shrug, “That’s pretty true actually, never steered me wrong though.”

 

Hermione’s last sight was her mother reacting with a smack to something her dad had said, but the words didn’t make it through the activation magic even though she could see them laughing. She huffed as she landed in the parlor of Grimmauld Place. “I am an excellent partner in crime! Why would you want to keep secrets from me?”

 

“I don’t.” Harry smiled down at her ruefully. “There’s literally no one better for me.”

 

***

 

Ginny flopped down on her bed in the room she shared with Hermione, the room the two girls had always shared at Grimmauld Place. She gave a wicked grin and wiggled to the edge of the bed, staring over at where Hermione sat against her headboard, reading a book Harry had found her on the history of Blackmoore. “So what did you get Harry for his birthday? I hope its not a book, that’d be fairly predicatable, don’t you think?”

 

“Don’t worry, It’s not a book.”

 

“Be still my beating heart,” Ginny gasped bringing her hadn up to her chest, “You didn’t get him a book!?”

 

Hermione looked up from _her_ book, “Honestly, Ginny, I don’t often buy Harry books. Perhaps one or two in the past, on Quidditch or Defense Against the Dark Arts,” she paused, “I think I gave him one on parslemagic last year for Christmas…”

 

“Parslemagic!” Ginny nearly tumbled off her bed, “Why would you get him something so dark? Encourage him to use something so dark?”

 

“Parslemagic isn’t inherently dark, very little magic is actually inherently dark- oh, forget it Ginny!” Hermione was frightfully close to rolling her eyes at the melodramatic girl, “What did _you_ get, Harry? Did you stay within the budget?”

 

“Oh, umm,” Ginny shook away her fears about dark magic, “Of course I will- well, sort of.”

 

Hermione arched a brow, “How do you ‘sort of’ stay within budget? Did you split the price tag with someone else?”

 

Ginny gave a giggle as she hopped off her bed to rifle through her luggage. She emerged back into Hermione’s sight carrying a pale pink box with a soft pink bow. Without any hesitation the girl tore off the ribbon and pulled from the white tissue paper a sheer pale nighty and panty set.

 

Hermione choked, “Didn’t know Harry’s tastes ran that … pink.”

 

The youngest Weasley scowled, “Don’t be ridiculous Hermione. _I_ _’m_ wearing this while I give Harry his birthday present.”

 

She couldn’t help it, the words were half out of her mouth before she could think to retract them. “I don’t think you want Ron to see you in that, or your mother.”

 

“Goodness grief, Hermione!” Ginny outright scowled, throwing the delicate pieces of lingerie onto a pile on her bed and then flopping back onto it herself. “You know what I want! Voldemort’s gone, the funnerals are finally over, the rebuilding is well under way, and he’s just claimed his title! He has the time and money to devote to a girlfriend and I fully intend on making sure that he doesn’t even see another woman but me!” She growled at just the thought of other women in Harry’s bed, “I just things between the two of us to go back to the way things were!”

 

“But Ginny,” Hermione asked, “what if that’s not what Harry wants anymore?”

 

“I’ll make it what he wants,” Ginny said darkly.

 

Before Hermione could respond to that decidedly uncomfortable turn in the conversation, there was a knock at the door. Standing in the doorway upon opening it, was Harry.

 

“Harry!” Ginny rolling out of bed and quickly straightening her hair, tugging at her top, “Did you want to talk? I can-”

 

“I’m actually here for Hermione, Gin.” Harry gave a small smile to both girls. “I fixed up a room for you on the fourth floor; I felt badly that with all the empty rooms in this old place that the two of you were still sharing.”

 

“But that on the family floor!” Burst out from Ginny as Hermione gathered her things. Lucky that she hadn’t unpacked already. “You’re going to let Hermione stay on the family floor?”

 

“Of course,” Harry frowned, playing lightly with his lordship ring, “There is no one I trust more than Hermione, Ginny. Regardless of what happens later in life, she will always be a member of my family.”

 

“That was sweet of you, Harry.” Hermione said as he led her up to the family floor, “I wouldn’t have minded staying with Ginny. Or staying on the guest floor, if you wanted to give Ginny the room on the family floor.”

 

“The only room on the family floor that Ginny wants is the Mistress Suite.” Harry snorted, “And I don’t intend on ever giving it to her.”

 

“I guess you heard us?” Hermione fiddled with the strap of her bag.

 

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, as they came to a stop in front of a bedroom door about midway down the hallway. “It’s never going to happen. Ginny isn’t what I want. She isn’t even close to what I want from my Lady. Bloody Hell, Hermione, she looks like my mother! There’s got to be something wrong with that! Merlin, what was I thinking?”

 

Hermione hid her laughter behind a hand, grinning up at the upset Lord Potter. “Well, your grandmother was a Black…”

 

“No.” Harry stepped back, mouth slack in horror, “Absolutely not. No. No. No. No. No.”

 

She giggled, “Relax, Harry. I’m just teasing. If she’s not who or what you want than you know I’ll support you.”

 

“I know, Hermione.” He leaned against the door frame, close enough to her that he was fully invading her personal space. “Listen, I wanted to-”

 

“Harry?” Ginny’s voice came up from the edge of the staircase, probably as close to the family quarters as the redhead could get before she yelled up. “Harry, I made tea! Why don’t you come down while Hermione unpacks!?”

 

He sighed, letting his head dip down and fall against her shoulder. “She makes horrible tea.”

 

Hermione pushed him up and swatted him on the arm. “If you go down now, I’ll unpack with a charm and be down to save you in a minute. We can chase her out of the room with politics, but be sure to move tea into the drawing room. You know I hate the kitchen.”

 

“Sure, Hermione.” He bent down and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. “Let me go do that.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Breathing Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People were people. Some people were OtherKind, Youkai and Sidhe, powerful and immortal. Some people were human, passionate but fleeting. Then there were Dragons. It was Kaoru's job to make sure they all got along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how this works: comment and vote for your favorite. Maybe it'll get finished.

**Part 1**

Swing, swing- Parry, parry,- shift. Kaoru kept her opponent in her sights as they danced around the sparing floor. He tried to catch her, and she tried to get him, all the while sweat trickled down her face underneath the helmet and the protective gear weighed her down. Shuffle left. Watch his feet, his eyes, the tension in his shoulders.

Wait for it, wait for it- there!

As her opponent lunged forward, Kaoru stepped in and twisted her bokken. Her opponent slipped and his weapon flew out of his hand as she stepped in and pressed the dulled edge of her wooden katana to his throat.

“Yield?”

He nodded, “I yield.”

Kaoru stepped back and smiled, not that her friend could see it, collapsing back into the hastily placed folding chair as hands pulled at the buckles and ties holding padding in place. The protective gear was hot from her body heat and the moist from sweat, after hours of movement and teaching she was rank.

“Good grief, Kaoru, you reek!”

Kaoru huffed, if she had the energy she’d swing around and hit him. “Sano! I have been working my tail off for this! You try fighting four different masters of kendo for hours at a time and tell me if you leave smelling like roses!”  

"I don't have to!" The martial artist laughed as his thick fingers tugged at the clasps of her protective gear, starting on the other side from her student, Yahiko. "I'm a guy. I always smell like dirty socks and nasty shit from under the bed. If I smelt nice people wouldn't take me seriously."

Yahiko snorted, "People wouldn't take you seriously regardless, Rooster-head. You're a reject thug from the inner city, covered in scars and tattoos from a life just shy of the mage prison. You're gonna tell me that you get any of your clients without putting on long sleeves?"

"I'll have you he now that my clients have never complained about my appearance.”

Yahiko snorted, “Your clients are housewives and old guys who spend their days behind a desk. For them, just working out next to you is a step on the wild side.

Kaoru wouldn’t be surprised that it devolved into slugged fists and pulled hair, more like little girls rolling around on the floor, than boys supposedly grown. No, the part-time Kendo instructor’s attention was focused on someone lingering near the back of the dojo.

He had his hood pulled up.

Twice Kaoru watched one of the other dojo instructors walk over and chastise the stranger’s bad manners. Twice he blew them off, gaining the attention of the dojo master Maekawa.

“Sano,” she tugged his arm free from restricting Yahiko’s air supply. “Quick, the man Maekawa-sensei is throwing out. DO you know him?”

“Should I?” Sano asked as Yahiko gasped and scowled in the background.

“I think he’s been following me.” She explained, gathering her gear to head out. “The movie theater with Megumi last week. The grocery store last night. The bus stop this morning, and now the demonstration today.” She wiped sweaty palms on her already dirty hakama. “And I think I remember him from before- but I don’t remember where.”

“Relax, Jou-chan.” Sano said, slinging his arm around her shoulder as they walked out. “Maybe you’ve got a secret admirer.”

“For Buso? As if.” Yahiko laughed, “You’re probably just paranoid. Maybe he’s from your neighborhood and you never noticed.”

Kaoru didn’t bother getting upset at the old nickname, too busy following her shadow in the surrounding windows. “So, why’s he still following?”

“Let’s ask.” Sano frowned, letting go of Kaoru to spin and pin the stalker to an alley’s convenient brick wall. “Why you following Jou-chan?”

The hood fell back exposing a face covered in toad-skin with bulbous eyes. His tongue slipped out to cover cracked lips with slimy saliva.

“Kappa.” Yahiko frowned, “What’re you doing in the city? It’s way too hot for you here.”

“I-I’m delivering a message from Hiruma-sama.” The lids over perpetually wide eyes fluttered. “He was upset over your verdict. Hiruma-sama says to change it, or he’ll give _you_ something to be upset over.”

“Hey now,” Sano said, struggling now to contain the suddenly slippery kappa youkai. “Wait a minute, you can’t just make a threat like that and think you can leave!”

But even as Sano complained, shifting his hands around to avoid the mucus the swamp-living youkai excreted, the youkai only needed a minute where both of Sano’s hands were both off him to slip away. It side-stepped Yahiko as the younger male slid into his path, and dodged around Kaoru’s out slung bokken like he had no bones in his body at all.

“Hey! Come on, man!” Sano called out, “You could at least tell us who Hiruma even is!”

“I know who he is.”

Later, when three cups of tea had been poured and both Yahiko and Sano had been thumped for trying to interrupt the ceremony, Kaoru sighed and began her explanation.

“It’s pretty simple actually. Hiruma Gohei is a **bear youkai** who inherited his land several hundred years ago from his mother, a fairly mediocre courtesan in the court of Inukimi, when she was still Lady of the West. She was married twice, once to a **weasel demon** and once to a **bear youkai.** Her sons operate a number of properties with financial backing from a man by the name of Kanryuu Takeda. He has ties to the yakuza and uses the Hiruma’s businesses to conduct several illegal activities, as well as launder money. The police sought a judge’s warrant to close down all of the businesses attached to the Hiruma’s and cease their property, but as you know-”

“Youkai property can only be ceased by authorization from the OtherKind Office.” Yahiko snorted. “Hiruma probably figured that he could stonewall the police with youkai property custody suites.”

“Yes.” Kaoru nodded, “He appealed the decision of the Judge and I was brought in as an expert opinion from the OtherKind Office. After careful review of the material, chain of custody for the property, and the evidence the police had collected against both brothers and Kanryuu, it was my judgment that there was more than enough reason to cease and hold the Hiruma’s and their property.”

“And now they’re coming after you.” Yahiko said, placing his tea cup carefully back on the low table they kneeled in front of.

“Damn it, Kaoru! This is why I didn’t want you involved in the OtherKind Office, to begin with!” He slammed the delicate teacup down, disregarding Kaoru’s gasp as the cup quivered and shattered. “Youkai hold grudges like it’s a contest! Cities have been leveled! Nations have fallen in the wake of Youkai grudge matches! Damn it, Kaoru!”

“I believe in this job, Sano! It’s why I took it! I worked my tail off, moving up from new hire to management! If threats scared me, I’d have quit years ago, buddy.” She huffed, glaring at her friend from where she stood across the table from him. “I believe in what my office stands for Sano. Not just tolerance of the other kinds, but a society that embraces both.”

“Kaoru!” Sano pulled at his hair with both fists. “You need to stop! Can’t you see that you’re putting your life in danger? Are they really worth that?!”

“Sagara Sanosuke!” She gasped, “They are sentient beings just like us. They deserve to live in peace and protection like everyone.”

“No, Kaoru.” Sano shook his head as he grabbed up his jacket. Making his way to her door. “They don’t, not at the risk of your own life. Let someone else go out on a limb to protect them. Not you. Until you can see how dangerous this is to you- I won’t be back. Won’t be party to your self-destruction.”

Kaoru heard him open and slam the door shut, but the tears in her eyes blinded her to the absence of her oldest friend.

Yahiko gently set his teacup back on the saucer. The only one to survive. “He didn’t mean it.”

“Yes, he did.” Kaoru folded back onto the floor, letting the salty water just drip from her eyes. Making no effort at all to hide how hurt she was. “Few people hate the OtherKind like Sano does.”

“But he doesn’t hate you, Kaoru.” Yahiko murmured, scooting closer to the older woman. “He won’t be able to stay away from you. Not for long.”

Usually, no, regardless of what the fight had been about, Sano was usually back within a few days, or sometimes hours. Except for the one time in high school with the Hello Kitty pajamas and the super glue, Sano had always come back. But he was one of the most tenacious and determined people Kaoru knew. He’d clawed himself out of the slums, out of the Yakuza and the gangs. If he really thought Kaoru was hurting herself, doing more harm than good than it was possible he might never darken her doorway again.

It was just that Kaoru couldn’t see how Sano _didn_ _’t_ see that the OtherKind were people. People who were prosecuted, rejected, and persecuted because of the manner of their birth. Because of _myths, legends, and stories_ from a time so long ago that only the oldest of the OtherKInd could remember it. Kaoru had grown up the daughter of a Samurai family. The duty to protect and defend, to provide a better life for those around her, it was carved into the very marrow of her bones. Her father had lived and breathed it until he left this world for the next one. Kaoru wanted to do nothing that would shame or dishonor her father’s memory.

She went to bed tired and sad that night, having resolved nothing except that the acknowledgment that the only way she would see her friend again was if she bent on the one thing she had no intention of ever bending on. 

**\----**

The Office of OtherKind Registration and Management (ORM) was always busy. Kaoru was lucky, she had held the day shift management position for a little over a year and didn’t have to worry the way some of the new hires did about sleeping schedules and a social life. Frankly, outside of kendo and her few friends, Kaoru didn’t have much of a social life. She was good at making friends, but she’d been more dedicated to her job than her relationships for longer than she cared to admit. Before Sano had walked out of her door it hadn’t mattered, she’d been close to a few people and she’d been part of something soo much bigger than herself. What was better than that?

Her secretary met her at the elevator, a sheaf of papers in her hands and a frown creasing her forehead.

“Problem Tae?”

“Umm,” Tae struggled to shrug and not displace any of the paperwork she was carrying as she followed Kaoru back into her office. “Depends on the definition of problem. The paperwork on the Hiruma appeal has finally come back, just ready for your signature; but Kanryuu Takeda is out in the front sitting area. Apparently, he wants a meeting.”

Kaoru did not cringe. No matter how much she wanted to. “Has security been alerted?”

“Yes,” the secretary nodded, “there on call and waiting.”

“Okay, well, anything else?”

“Yeah, Inspector Uramura is here.” Tae shrugged at the questioning look from her boss. “He looked concerned and a little anxious, but not too upset.”

“I’ll deal with Kanryuu first. Show him in, give me fifteen minutes and then alert me that the Inspector is waiting for me.” Kaoru huffed, “hopefully that will help get him out of my damn office.”

Kanryuu Takeda was a delicate problem. One that Kaoru’s superiors in ORM wished to never let her handle. Because she had far to much of a tendency to punch first and apologize never. And Kanryuu had a substantial amount of money sunk into various government offices through hefty personal donations. Couldn’t spit in the parliament without hitting someone who’s in his pocket.

But Kaoru decidedly wasn’t. Which meant that the next fifteen minutes could end up very very tense. 

“Kanryuu Takeda, Kamiya-san.” Tae said as she opened the door just enough to let the dirty business man in. Unrepentantly shutting it in the face of the two bodyguards who tried to follow him in. Even with the door closed Kaoru could still hear the sharp tones of her secretary and the low growl of the thwarted thugs.

“Kanryuu-san,” Kaoru said, offering him a seat in front of her desk. “What can I do for you?”

“What no tea, Kamiya-san?” The leech eyeballed her as he folded himself into the desk chair. “Not a very good host are you Kamiya-san?”

“Unfortunately,” Kaoru said, trying hard not to grind her teeth to nubs. “I am but middle management and my days are busy. I have neither the time nor the resources for traditional hospitality.”

“Perhaps we could meet outside office hours then?” Kanryuu proposed, a slick smile crossing his lips. Long fingers bridged across his lap. “It would certainly be more enjoyable than this.”

“No.” She bit her tongue and pasted insincerely sincere regret on her face, “I try very hard to keep work and home separate. I’m afraid you’ll have to simply tell me how I can be of assistance.”

Kanryuu sighed, like she’d disappointed him. Which was unfortunately for Kanryuu, because Kaoru figured she’d be doing pretty well in life if she never met that assholes expectations of her. “The Hiruma case. I’d heard from a friend that you are the one giving expert judgement on the Youkai Property appeal. I want you to side with the Hiruma’s. There’s no reason their lands should be ceased just because of a little misunderstanding with the police.”

A little misunderstanding! Calling the Hiruma’s charge sheet a little misunderstand was a like saying dragon’s collected things. A hoard of several billion dollars or of several hundred or thousand years was not a collection.

“I’ve already made my decision, Kanryuu-san.” Kaoru tilted her head to the side. “There’s more than enough evidence to not only convict the Hirumas, but to seize their property.”

“Then change it.” His voice was like a glacier. “I have sunk quite a sum of money into those properties for a number of different reasons. If they’re seized, how am I supposed to make my money back?”

Kaoru leaned back in her chair, not slouching, but no longer paying the business man any serious amount of attention, on the surface at least. “While that does sound uncomfortable, Kanryuu-san. I cannot do as you ask. My decision is final.”

“Ask-?” The man sputtered, gaining his feet to lean against Kaoru’s desk. “Kamiya I am not asking anything, I’m telling you! Reverse-”

Tae knocked loudly on the door and then flung it open without waiting for an answer. “Kamiya-san, you’re nine-thirty is with Inspector Uramura, and he’s here.”

“Thank you, Tae.” She pointedly tilted her head to the door, “You can show Kanryuu-san the door.”

The Inspector raised his brow as he entered the office, Kanryuu leaving in a huffy whorl wind. “That didn’t look good.”

Kaoru sigh, “I don’t think I’ll be getting that promotion I wanted.”

“The Hoard Liaison?” Uramura took his customary seat in front of her desk, not the one Kanryuu had just left. “You don’t have a lot of experience with dragons, but I don’t think anyone in the running actually does. And you do have more experience in inter-OtherKind negotiation than any of the other prospective applicants I’ve heard of. None of them have ever been in the field, I think.” 

“I’m just lucky hitting people is an acceptable response in Youkai society. Otherwise that wouldn’t go so well either.” She leaned back in her chair, tossing the stress ball into the air and catching it.

“I don’t know Kaoru, I’ve been to a few of those negotiations.” He scratched his head. “It takes a lot of nerves to look in the eye of a be-fanged, be-clawed, youkai prince having a temper tantrum and tell him to get over it.”

She shrugged, it wasn’t such a big scary deal to her. “What’ve you got for me? And don’t tell me it’s the Hiruma case! I’ll be so glad when that goes to court and I can be done with it.” Kaoru groaned.

“Not the Hiruma case,” the Inspector assured with a weak smile. “Inspector Saitou, the Wolf- you know him, right? - he took over that case. Superiors wanted someone who looked more intimidating on the file.”

Kaoru wanted to groan again, she was not looking forward to dealing with the Wolf of Mibu in any way. The Ookami was an asshole.

“What is it then?”

The Inspector sighed. “I’m not sure, actually.” He slid a file across her desk. “Have you ever heard of a dragon purging its hoard?”

“What?” Kaoru quickly sat up and drew the manila folder closer. Inside was a collection of eight reports, complete with pictures, of pearls. Black, blue, red, yellow, white, the colors covered the spectrum and no single pearl was exactly the same. Not color, not size, and not imperfection. Each one was a unique item completely singular in its existence and worth a mortal’s fortune. Without even considering that they had once been part of a dragon’s hoard.

Once, centuries ago, mortal and even some OtherKind had sought out the hoards of dragons for the items in their collection. Everything from fans to swords to precious gems and metals could be collected by dragons. Kaoru had even heard of books of poetry and paintings being collected by dragons. The worth of an item from a dragon’s hoard wasn’t in its physical value, though they could be worth a lot by themselves. The worth, what made them priceless to so many for centuries was the fact that they had been held by _dragons_ and dragons were almost the most powerful OtherKind in existence. And they stored most of their power in their hoard.

Kaoru couldn’t even imagine what could possess a dragon to purge its hoard.

“How did you find out?” She didn’t look away from the pictured stones. “No one in their right mind would willingly hand over a piece of a dragon’s hoard.”

Uramura grinned, and it had teeth. “We picked up a couple of young street mages. Nothing terribly illegal, but they powered a Fireworks spell with power from one of the pearls and it went off like a nuclear bomb. No casualties, but they’ll be working off more than a little property damage.”

Kaoru didn’t want to imagine. “Shouldn’t that have been in the news?”

“House fire.” Uramura raised a sardonic brow, “Don’t exactly want everyone and their brother knowing that these things are floating around. I was hoping that you had some way of tracking down the owner. We need to find out the story of how these things ended up on the street.”

Kaoru nodded and pulled up the registration database for OtherKind. Had to type in three different authentication codes before she could even access the right search box for dragons. After all, sentient nature hadn’t changed all that much. Couldn’t just give let anyone know where certain OtherKind were.

“Okay,” She mumbled under her breath, picking out hoard type and location to narrow the results. “Hmm.”

“Is that a good ‘hmm’ or a bad ‘hmm’?” Uramura asked.

“It’s a confused ‘hmm’.” Kaoru said. “There are no dragons registered in the city who collect pearls.”

“They couldn’t have come from outside the city! They’d have been snatched up and put on the black market if they’d traveled that far. Could there be an unregistered dragon in the city?”

Kaoru fidgeted a moment in her chair, to get more comfortable, before pulling up to the computer again. “Hypothetically, yes. A dragon could exist without any of the usual assistance that the ORM gives. Practically speaking, not really. Dragons contain massive amounts of magic by their very existence. Their near extinction and the rapid decline of magic that resulted was one of the impetuses for a ceasefire between species. To even sleep the wards on a dragon’s den would need to be so extensive that it would never get through city zoning board. Unless-”

“Unless, what?” Uramura was on the edge of his seat.

“Unless, the dragon in question is old enough that he doesn’t want anyone knowing where he dens and has the skills so that he doesn’t need the ORM’s help at all.”

“Is that rare?” Uramura asked, brow furrowed in confusion. “I thought assistance was still given to dragons because the current level of ambient magic wouldn’t support the population needed to grow the magic? Catch-22, right? Damned if you do, damned if you don’t?”

“Again, hypothetically yes.” Kaoru sighed, “But let’s be honest here, if a dragon were old enough, had enough skill, and enough power- they could certainly walk around with no one the wiser. It galls, but the fact is that most dragons can be identified because they’re _young_. Less than three hundred years, barely out of adolescence for dragons. If a real true adult, or gods-forbid an elder, wanted to go unnoticed, they probably would.”

“So,” Uramura posed, “how do we find a dragon that neither needs nor wants our help and leaves no sign of what they are?”

“Good question.” Kaoru slumped back in her chair.

She didn’t know.

**Part 2**

Later that day Kaoru sat at her desk tapping her fingers on the edge of the keyboard. Thinking of the problem that Inspector Uramura had placed in her lap: how do you find a dragon that didn’t want to be found?

 

History had ensured that a dragon old enough and skilled enough would be more than capable of hiding from any sort of power that was looking for him or her. The only idea Kaoru had was -paperwork. So much of it had to be filed nowadays. Even among mortals, paperwork tracked who went where and bought what, tracked who knew who, and could predict disease outbreaks.

 

Kaoru stopped and went back- _who knew who_. Of course, only a dragon could properly track a dragon. They would be able to feel the uptick in magic that another dragon coming into their territory would cause. Of course, most of the dragons registered with the ORM were post-peace hatchlings. As much reverence and awe were given to dragons, there had been a lot of pressure to repopulate their community because of the effect their deaths had on magic.

 

It was unfortunate, and a gruesome piece of history, but several female dragons had been bred to death by government powers. Their hatchlings had been taken care of by the government, or fostered by the dragons that could be found. They were good enough citizens, obeying the laws, filing their paperwork, and they served the purpose that the government wanted- nurturing and growing magic. Most though, wouldn’t have the first clue what to do to find another of their kind.

 

Once more Kaoru typed in the triple-verification identification information to access the registration information for the dragons. Narrowing the search to the city, and then to dragons older than 400, Kaoru had one name: Kiyosato Tomoe.

 

“Uramura?” Kaoru called on the way out of her office, locking up and waving her secretary off as she pinned the cell phone between her cheek and her shoulder. “I had an idea. I’ve texted you an address, meet me there with a pearl.”

 

It was exciting. Oh, she’d done fieldwork before, quite a bit actually. But it was mostly the type of work that Uramura had described: sitting down between two disgruntled youkai youth and beating them over the head until the learned enough manners to be worth her time. Or having a casual lunch with some of the older youkai in the area, working out business compromises or paperwork issues. But regardless of their appearance in old Japanese myth, dragons weren’t youkai, they were fully Other and probably more important to the continuation of life on this planet than the _Sun_.

 

Uramura met her exactly where she had told him, at the entrance to the fancy apartment complex in the higher income bracket of the city. Kiyosato-san’s apartment was a penthouse on the 40th floor. The lobby guard wouldn’t let them up before making sure it was okay.

 

Nice for Kiyosato-san, that the guards took her safety so carefully, but annoying for the two government officials.

 

“You brought it, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Uramura said, patting his pocket, “I only signed out one from evidence. Chief thought it would be too much of a distraction if all the evidence left the station.”

 

“Right.” Kaoru tugged down on her jacket as they road the elevator up to the dragon’s floor. “Well, we really only need to see if she recognizes the energy in the pearl. We don’t need to bribe her with them.”

 

The Inspector chuckled weakly.

 

Kiyosato Tomoe was a classically Japanese woman, in a way that most dragons were never stereotypically one race or another, but Kaoru simply pasted a smile on her lips and nodded slightly at the woman who opened the door.

 

“We were hoping to speak with Kiyosato Tomoe? My name is Kamiya Kaoru, of ORM, and this is Inspector Uramura with the Police.”

 

“Oh,” the woman said quietly, opening the door wider, “Won’t you come in?”

 

Kaoru was no stranger to the opulent abodes of OtherKind. With power came longevity and the ability to amass wealth. She had been to the den of the Inu Lord Sesshomaru and his wife the Lady Kagura, once before. As a runner, she had dropped off a set of paperwork the Daiyoukai had needed to sign. It had exuded all of the power and history that she had expected with visible pieces of history everywhere she looked. Not so in Kiyosato’s penthouse.

 

Glass and stainless steel, marble and tile, clean lines and the professional sterility that came from a dedicated, or terrified, cleaning service. Nothing in the penthouse hinted that Kiyosato was a dragon. Wealthy, yes. She had the best of quality items and the most expensive of furnishings and toys, but not a single piece of the female’s long life was visible in the immediate areas of her house. Rather, the apartment lacked any kind of personality that Kaoru would have expected to see.

 

“Please, sit.” Kiyosato gestured to the couch across from her chair and gave the slightest twitch of lips. “May I offer you tea or refreshments?”

 

Kaoru smiled and nodded, gently coaching her companion to follow her lead. It wasn’t a hard and fast rule, but most OtherKind older than the emperor’s entire dynastic house were frequently sticklers for traditional manners. Which meant that in Kiyosato’s house the two visitors sat and drank tea and lingered in silence, before a slight movement from the dragon indicated that she would be amenable to hearing their business now.

 

“Kiyosato-san, as far as ORM is concerned you are the oldest dragon in the city limits. We’ve come hoping that your long life has exposed you to the one we are seeking.” She nodded to the Inspector who held out the envelope with the pearl in it.

 

“This was found in the possession of a couple of stupid street kids practicing firework magic.” Uramura snorted, “Nearly set the whole street on fire. They only had the vaguest idea what they had. Police wizards said it was part of a dragon’s hoard, but Kamiya-san says that there aren’t any dragons that hoard pearls in the area.”

 

“Not even in the entire territory.” Kaoru added, “The next dragon with a pearl hoard is several countries away. We came for some advice. Do you know the owner?”

 

It was interesting. Kaoru hadn’t realized until Kiyosato-san had paled that she hadn’t thought it was possible for the female to get any paler. But she did.

 

With a trembling hand the dragon carefully placed the pearl back into the envelope and the envelope delicately onto the glass coffee table that sat between them. “I do and I don’t.”

 

“I don’t understand, Kiyosato-san.”

 

“The magic in the pearl isn’t natural. It’s that of a death- animal, human, OtherKind- I cannot tell. But it was not the natural magic of a dragon’s hoard stored in the stone.” She took a deep breath and clasped her hands across her lap. “But in all of my years on this Earth I only know of one being who does such a thing. His name, when I knew him, was Himura Kenshin. He was Hitokiri Battousai when I knew him. The willing blade of Katsura-sama, dragon lord, during the last of the OtherKind wars. He fought, killed, and protected a number of high-ranking members of Katsura’s court during the wars. Including myself. I can tell you that I was never as safe, or in as much danger, as when I was in the presence of Himura Battousai.”

 

Kaoru swallowed softly, she was no stranger to dangerous situations with OtherKind, but Hitokiri Battousai was in a whole different league. “Do you know where he is now?”

 

Kiyosato-san shook her head. “After Katsura and Yamagata came to the negotiation table, after Tobi Fushima, the Hitokiri walked away and do not know anyone who’s seen him since.”

 

Kaoru resisted the urge to tug at the end of her ponytail. “Do you have any ideas on how to find him?”

 

“Why?” Kiyosato-san asked with wide eyes. “Why not just lock them away, or purge them, or offer them to the emperor or the temple or the highest bidder? Why would you want to track him down? The Demon of Kyoto?”

 

“Because he’s the Demon of Kyoto.” Kaoru said. She took a bracing sip of tea and sat for a minute to gather her thoughts before returning to the conversation. “Kiyosato-san, I can’t imagine how terrifying he is, or was, but if even a few of these pearls are on the streets we need to find out how and why. Before someone a lot less likely to return them gets a hold of them.”

 

Kiyosato nodded just once. “I don’t know how to find him. But I still keep in contact with a few from that time, I’ll see if someone knows how to get in contact with him.”

 

“Thank you, Kiyosato-san.”

 

The female dragon made small talk for a few more minutes before showing them to the door. Outside in the elevator Inspector Uramura laughed lightly wiping sweat from his brow.

 

“I can see why they call you in for the tough cases, now.” He breathed deeply in and out, carefully taking in air. “After Kiyosato-san let loose her ki I could barely keep from bolting let alone following the train of the conversation. How do you do it?”

 

Kaoru shrugged, “I don’t even notice anymore.”

 

“Don’t notice?” The Inspector gaped as he followed her out to the street. “How can you not notice?”

 

Kaoru shrugged, frowning lightly as she pulled her collar up against the light rain and began looking for a taxi. “Too much exposure, I guess. After you’ve sat through a Cardinal Lord berating his offspring you can handle anything.” She clapped him on the back, “Cheer up, you did much better than most I’ve taken with me. You just thought about running, I didn’t actually have to chase you down.”

 

“Soo encouraging,” Uramura rolled his eyes. “Hey, Kamiya-san, what are we doing now?”

 

“Now we wait.” Kaoru opened the back door of a cab. “Report to your superiors and I’ll report to mine. We’ll keeping looking, and watching for more, but we need to see if Kiyosato-san comes through.”

 

“I guess that’s all we can do.” Uramura sighed as he began walking in the other direction.

 

Both were headed back to work.

 

——

 

When Kaoru had been a little girl, small enough to still sit on her father’s lap, small enough her mother had still been alive, he had taken her up on the roof one night and told her stories about the stars. He had started with science, making the dull and boring physics of cosmology come alive in the vivid imagination of a little girl to young to really understand. Then he had told stories.

 

Kamiya Koshijirou had laid his daughter against his chest and pointed up at the sky and said:

 

_Inu-youkai believe stars are the eyes of inu guarding heaven._

_Sidhe believe they are like will-o-wisps, put in the sky by the missing Tuatha De. Tempting the unwary to follow where they cannot survive, like will-o-wisps._

_And Dragons, tou-san?_ She’d asked, _what do dragons think the stars are?_

_Why a dragon_ _’s hoard, little Kaoru, the most perfect and powerful hoard in existence. That of the dragon who created the sky._

 

She felt a little like that now, laying sweaty from a grueling work out in the apartment gym, trying hard to run her body to the ground not trying to think about the wreckage that her life was in. When the gym hadn’t worked, when a tub, a shower, tea, hadn’t worked; she’d pulled the quilt from her bed to lay out under the stars on her balcony. Thinking back to that night a lifetime ago.

 

Working with Uramura that day had left her feeling a little like the kid she’d been so long ago. She’d reached into a bag for pearls and come out holding stars, nothing she could have imagined in a million years. Kaoru wished, for once, that her life wasn’t so lonely. Wished that she wasn’t a workaholic, wished that she was even slightly more forgiving than she actually was, because maybe then there would be someone laying down beside her sharing stories about the source of stars.

 

Kaoru had fallen a little in love all those years ago. Not with the enormous balls of chemical flame and light thousands of millions of lightyears away, but with the dragons, who had looked up at the heavens and seen not something to make small to understand, but something to treasure. And dragons alone know the true meaning of treasure.

 

Just as the tired office worker began to gently fall to sleep under the watch light of the stars, a pounding began at the door.

 

Rolling over onto her stomach and grappling with her phone as the pounding continued, Kaoru groaned at the time 3:30. Crawling, then stumbling, then tiredly wiping her eyes, Kaoru headed to the door of her apartment. Whoever was there at this time of night had better be bleeding.

 

Unfortunately, they were.

 

Sanosuke was propped between two males, Yahiko and a small redhead not much larger than her. Kaoru couldn’t help but wonder how he could even help.

 

“What happened?”

 

“Hey, Kaoru.” Yahiko nodded as he dragged Sano, and by default the mystery third person, over her threshold and onto her living room couch. Where Sano proceeded to snore and snort. “Don’t worry, he’s already stopped bleeding.”

 

“Yahiko,” Kaoru fisted her hands at her hips, “What’s going on? Why’s Sano bleeding, to begin with?”

 

“Ah,” the redhead shrugged, “I’m afraid that’s my fault, Miss -Kaoru, was it? - Your friend Sanosuke seemed to find something I said offensive and given he was quite drunk, couldn’t quite keep his feet under him.”

 

“And the blood?” Kaoru asked dryly.

 

Yahiko snorted, “Ass drove himself into the damn bar, busted his nose by his own damn self.”

 

“Concussed?” Kaoru sighed, reaching into her back pocket to start setting hourly alarms. “Put him on his side, will you?”

 

“He should be fine, that he should.” The red head smiled, violet eyes glowed with light mirth and warmth. “Less the one-sided fight with the bar top and more the amount of alcohol he imbibed.”

 

“Yeah, Kaoru, I just brought him to because you were closest.” Yahiko grinned. “Besides, this’ll force him to make up with you.”

 

“Oh,” the red head looked intrigued. “Lover’s quarrel.”

 

“No.” Kaoru snorted, “Ass gets into fights but he can’t handle the idea that my job puts me in trouble.” Kaoru shot a look at the stranger in her living room. “Mister-?”

 

“Ken, right?” Yahiko said, wiping his dirty hands on his mostly ruined shirt. The blood would probably never come out. “Thanks for the help, considering he did it to himself, trying to do it to you.”

 

There was a cross mark scar on his cheek that Kaoru hadn’t noticed in the dim light. Now, though, he had all her attention, and he still only smiled.

 

“Well,” the mystery man smiled, “he did do it to himself.” There was gentle teasing laughter between the two men before the redhead appeared to catch a look at the time. “I’m afraid I must go, that I must. Do take care of your friend.”

 

Then he was bowing and back out the door he’d entered.

 

Kaoru blinked, “Where did you find him?”

 

Yahiko shrugged, “Sano just went after him for some reason. No clue. Dude was good about it though, helped me get him over here, when he saw I had trouble.”

 

“That guy? Ken?” Kaoru shook her head, “Can’t be that bigger than me, can’t be that stronger.”

 

“Ah,” Yahiko tensed for a minute, shooting a wary look over his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure he wasn’t human. Don’t know what, but felt like OtherKind.”

 

“Not for ‘some reason’ then.” Kaoru sighed, rolling her friend over to sleep against the back of the couch with a bucket in reach on the floor. “What’re we gonna do with you, Sano?”

 

In the morning Kaoru didn’t make much effort to get Sano up before she left. It might have been a little pissy, leaving him where he had rolled himself off her couch during the night, but she was running on less than four hours of sleep and more coffee than was healthy.

 

Besides, she hadn’t asked for Yahiko to drag him to her apartment. It had been Sano who decided that he wasn’t speaking or seeing her until she changed her mind. In Kaoru’s mind that meant that Sano needed to be the one crawling back to her this time. He needed to recognize that she wasn’t straying from her path just because her friend didn’t approve. There would be other friends.

 

Even if none of them would have their history.

 

Or the length of their friendship.

 

And none of them would be Sano.

 

Thunking her head into the door to her apartment Kaoru really wished she was a woman more likely to put off her problems, for once in her life. Placing her travel mug on the small table under her coat rack and letting her satchel drop from her shoulder, she turned to look at the large lump on her living room floor.

 

There might be more friends in the future, but none of them would be Sano. Stepping over to the heap of drunken smelly thug, Kaoru planted her perfectly polished, sensible, mary jane clad foot into the idiots stomach with a swift kick.

 

“Oof.”

 

“Get up, Sano.”

 

“Kaoru?” Sano slurred, opening one bleary eye to stare up at her. “What are you doing in my ‘partment. We’re not talking.”

 

“Take a look around, rooster-head,” kaoru scoffed, “We’re not in your apartment- we’re in mine.”

 

“Huh. What’re we doing here?”

 

“Yahiko dragged your sorry ass home after you got into a fight with the bar top.” Kaoru barely resisted tapping her foot. “So? What’re you going to say?”

 

“About what?”

 

“About leaving!” Kaoru shouted. “About not saying anything to me, about getting so damn drunk that you mistook a bar for the fucking attitude adjustment you deserve! About giving me an ultimatum you twisted son of a bitch!”

 

She hit him. Then, because it had made her feel better, she hit him again. Strong arms were surrounding her and a chest pillowed her head as her vision blurred and she sobbed into her best friend’s chest. “You’re my brother, Sano! How could you do something like this?”

 

“I’m sorry, Kaoru. I’m sorry.”

**Part 3**

It was like Megumi always said: some days were just a waste of makeup. Kaoru should have known it would be one of those days when Sanosuke ended up on her living room couch, but she was an optimistic person by nature and starting a day know it wasn’t going to be a good day- well, she tended to try crawling back to bed. After fixing her makeup, and her fourth cup of coffee, she was feeling marginally more human than she had for most of the morning. Which went right down the drain when upon opening the door to her office there was someone already sitting in her it.

 

Police Detective Saitou Hajime, the Wolf, sat nonchalantly cleaning his claws with the edge of a knife over her trash can. So not who she wanted to see first thing in the morning. Kaoru was noticing a disturbing pattern about visitors in her office first thing in the morning.

 

“At least your doing it over the trash can.” Kaoru thumped her carry-all next to her desk. “Not so savage after all, huh.”

 

“Please, Kamiya.” Saitou-san flicked his knife back to where ever he kept it on an everyday basis. “I save my savagery for my enemies.” He peered at her over his rose-colored glasses, “which you aren’t, yet.”

 

“Was there something you wanted, Saitou-san?” Kaoru asked deliberately focusing on her computer screen more than her unwelcome visitor. “Or did you just come up to practice menacing? I’m sure there are new recruits somewhere in the building that would benefit from a threatened mauling more than I would.”

 

“Sure of that, Kamiya?” Saitou leaned over her desk, well into her personal space, not that the Wolf ever respected in anyways, and sniffed. “Fear-” He narrowed his eyes and leaned in even further over her desk, pressing his nose almost into her neck.

 

Kaoru very carefully did not move. More than half of being good at dealing with OtherKind, youkai especially, was knowing when not to do anything. And the Ookami’s teeth were entirely too close to her throat for her peace of mind.

 

“Make friends with a dragon, did you?” Saitou leaned back with a sneer. “I thought you had better taste than that, Kamiya-san.”

 

Kaoru resisted gritting, grinning, or otherwise showing her teeth to the male with fangs.

 

“I am assisting Inspector Uramura with locating the owner of some found hoard items. We visited a registered member of the Kind to see if she could assist. Other than second guessing my job, Detective Saitou, what did you want?” She scowled up at him.

 

“Kanryuu Takeda visited you yesterday. Why?”

 

Kaoru shrugged, “Corrupt jerk thought he could convince me to change my verdict on the Hiruma case.”

 

“And did you?”

 

“No.” Kaoru just barely kept from scowling even harder at the man. Any more frustrated and she’d be squinting so hard she wouldn’t even see him. “Anything else?”

 

“Don’t leave town.” Saitou said as he walked out of her office. “You’ll be called on when the case goes to trial.”

 

“Wonderful,” Kaoru sighed slouching. Not that she had any intention of traveling more than the distance between her apartment, her office, and her dojo, but being asked wouldn’t have hurt. Depressing the rarely used intercom button on her office phone, Kaoru called for her secretary, “Tae?”

 

“Yes, Kamiya-san?”

 

“Coffee. Lot’s of coffee. Please.”

 

Later, the phone rang. It wasn’t such an unusual circumstance. Though most of her phone calls were from within the agency there were a number of OtherKind who called her directly to inform the agency about something that was happening. The Lady Kagura of the West was particularly fond of calling Kaoru to complain about some or other situation that the agency had complicated, Kaoru was the Lady’s favorite mortal. The female had said so herself.

 

So, the blocked number on her phone wasn’t all that unusual. Not really. It just wasn’t what Kaoru thought it was going to be.

 

“Kamiya Kaoru.”

 

“So, you’ve been asking about the Hitokiri Battousai. Quite a dangerous undertaking.” The other side of the conversation was held by a male, indeterminate age, indeterminate species, and indeterminate location. Not a lot Kaoru could go on. “Why?”

 

“How did you hear about that?” she asked, sitting at the edge of her seat and bracing herself against the top of her desk. She waved Tae away when the secretary came in to give her more paperwork.

 

“I was the first and only call Kiyosato Tomoe made concerning your investigation.” Kaoru could just vaguely hear a noise in the background, probably the movement of a chair or door. “Assassins don’t like being found, Kamiya-san. If I didn’t know where he was than no one would.”

 

“And do you know where he is?”

 

“I might. Depending on why you’re looking for him.”

 

Kaoru raised a brow, “Kiyosato-san didn’t tell you?”

 

“She left a message that you were looking for him. That you found something of his.”

 

“Yes, we-”

 

“We who?” The voice at the other end went cold and hard, “Who else are you leading to the _Greatest of Revolutionaries_?”

 

“What?” Kaoru shook her head. “Listen, I’m genuinely concerned for Himura-san-”

 

“How do you know that name?! Who told it to you?!”

 

“Kiyosato-san said we were looking for a ‘Himura Kenshin’, she told us that he was well known for collecting the items we’d found.”

 

“Again, with the ‘we’. Who are you working for? I won’t let you put him in danger, you-”

 

“Listen, you paranoid idiot!” Kaoru hissed. “I’m not working for anyone with their own fucking grudge. No one is trying to kill Himura-san! The police found a dragon’s item, a pearl storing a man’s death. Several teenage idiots almost burnt down the warehouse slums using it to power a fireworks spell. We’re only trying to locate Himura-san. I find out why his items are on the streets. See if he’s okay.”

 

“That’s it?”

 

The kendo instructor shrugged even though her conversational partner could not see her. “He might have to explain to the police what lead to them ending up on the street. Depending on pending charges he might get slapped with negligence of hazardous magic, but that’s not up to me. That’ll be a decision for the district attorney.” She huffed, “Now are you going to tell me how to get a hold of Himura-san, or not?”

 

A sigh came across the telephone line, “This is what I know.”

 

The address that the anonymous phone call had led her to was a brownstone walk up. A nice part of the city, not particularly well known for OtherKind residents, but not opposed to them either. It was quieter and calmer in a way that was not like the rest of the hustling bustling city. She had checked on the way over, there was practically no nearby OtherKind at all. Startling for a moment, even the most isolationist of OtherKind preferred being among the many spots and stripes of others with magic than such a mundane neighborhood.

 

But wasn’t that the point? There was absolutely nothing in the area that even hinted that a dragon, one of the most powerful and frightening, lived here. If, for whatever reason, that pearl hadn’t gotten into the hands of those power-tripping kids then no one would have ever known where Hitokiri Battousai had ended up. Kaoru couldn’t say if that was good or bad.

 

On the one hand, here was an OtherKind with a legend and myth as dangerous and bloody as the Taiyoukai of the West. It was the prerogative of peacekeeping organizations the world over to keep track of OtherKind like him. _Societal Dangers,_ there were whole taskforces in the police and militaries of the world for putting these types of OtherKind in wholes and graves so dark and deep no one would ever be able to find them. And they certainly wouldn’t be able to climb out.

 

Then again, the building she stood in front of wasn’t in the name of Himura Kenshin. In fact, there was no record anywhere younger than a hundred years with the name Himura Kenshin on it. Kaoru and Inspector Uramura had each checked their own databases after the interview with Kiyosato-san. The ORM database had been around on paper back then, mostly keeping track of territory and breeding numbers of OtherKind, but when Kaoru had searched for ‘Himura, Dragon’ the results had returned two very brief articles on the Household of Katsura during the war between humanity and OtherKind. A single line in a registration index, noting that the male was ‘special circumstances’; and then it was gone. No record or mention for over fifty years, then a ‘Missing- Use Caution’ notice stamped with a decade of years the ORM had searched for him, followed by signed paperwork to close the file. Then nothing.

 

Ni’itsu Shinta owned the building Kaoru stood in front of. He was a registered fire elemental with minor talent who worked for the city fire department. Inherited the house from a relative, Ni’itsu Kakunoshin, who had apparently died in a bar fight. There was a small note about property damage to the bar when the relative died, but otherwise- no notices, no warrants, not even a traffic violation on a registered identity twenty-five years old.

 

Kaoru hadn’t told Uramura that she’d found the dragon they were looking for. For one, she wasn’t actually sure that she had. There was nothing connecting Himura Kenshin and Ni’itsu Shinta. For the second, Uramura would be compelled to report Ni’itsu Shinta as a _Societal Danger_ , and as far as Kaoru could tell there really wasn’t a reason to do that. Besides his apparent inability to keep track of dangerous magical artefacts, that is.


	3. How Corrupt: Lost at Charing Cross Station

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Corrupt does a society need to be for Sentinels & Guides to abandon it? Why would Harry ever want to join it then?
> 
> This Chapter: Harry meets his first Sentinel & Guide.
> 
> FYI- This is a prequel to last year's EAD post which included a chapter from "How Corrupt".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how this works: comment and vote for your favorite. Maybe it'll get finished.

Harry pressed small fists into the walls of his abdomen as the muscles spasmed and cramped. He was empty. Not the kind of empty that had come after being locked in the dark of his cupboard when he’d done well enough to get a gold star on his spelling test and Dudley hadn’t, but the empty that had him drinking water from the water hose while Aunt Petunia took a break from making sure he didn’t murder her precious roses to watch her afternoon soaps, usually after he’d missed out on breakfast and lunch.

 

There wasn’t a garden hose in Charing Cross station. There were supposed to be public water fountains but Harry was small and it had been hard enough to wheel his heavy cart back into the corner by this bench. He didn’t want to think about how hard it would be to wheel the trolley out into the stream of people, avoid getting stepped on, find a water fountain, and then make sure no one stole his stuff while his back was turned to drink the water. Pain stabbed through his chest at the thought of his stuff, his magical stuff that he’d bought with the money his parents, who had _died_ for him and _weren_ _’t_ drunks, had carefully set aside so that he could pay for his school supplies if anything like what did happen came to fruition. The items on the trolley were _his_ and _his parents_ had wanted him to get them, else wise why would they arrange for him to go to a magical school?

 

No, Harry wasn’t going to take that chance with the one connection he has to his parents. So he curled up on the bench between Platforms 9 and 10 of the tube station and pressed his knees into his stomach, hoping the hunger would fade soon.

 

It was hard to keep his eyes open, he’d been on his feet all day and Hagrid had come and taken him from the shack on the tiny island in the channel, the first time he’d ever left Surrey, very early in the day that morning. The very large man had woken with the first chirping of the morning birds and pressed Harry that they needed to go as soon as possible, well Harry had no reason to stay with the Dursleys so off to the world of magic they’d gone.

 

He just wished he could stay there. There had been rooms in the pub that Hagrid and he had had lunch in and he had gold to pay, but his guide to the magical world had been adamant that Headmaster Dumbledore insisted that he return to the Dursleys. If the old man insisted so much it was a wonder he didn’t go and stay with them.

 

Now it had been hours since they left the shack on the tiny island, and hours since the early lunch they’d been fed at the _Leaky Cauldron._ Harry had done more walking and wandering on the cobblestone streets of the secret magic alleyway today than he usually got to do in the entire summer. And he’d done it all in Dudley’s awful shoes.

 

They were at least two sizes too big and held together with duct tape and wishes. A single large piece wrapped several times around the tennis shoe from the rubber of the sole to the laces above the tongue, practically all that was keeping it on Harry’s sore foot. He had thought to buy a new set at the _Robes for all Occasions_ place, but when he’d looked around there were no tennis shoes to be seen. Boots with a million tiny buttons and slippers with wings that flapped, or women’s pumps that promised a ‘full day full of comfort’ in all colors of the rainbow, with and without sparkles, but no plain non-magical tennis shoes.

 

Which sucked, Harry could admit, because his cousin’s castoffs didn’t exactly give him the best support.

 

Though, regardless of food or shoes, Harry was still stuck on the same bench in Charing Cross station that he’d been sitting on for the last few hours. Because for all that Hagrid was a very nice fellow, in spite of his size, and the boy in the robe shop had been quite rude, the man had still left him alone and with no way to get home in the middle of London. Not smart or nice at all.

 

A bus was out of the question. Even if he could find one that would take magical money instead of muggle, how would he possibly be able to get his stuff home? There wasn’t enough room on the average overhead rack for a heavy trunk and a bird cage, with a bird, to fit. Not to mention that a metropolitan bus probably didn’t have a rout that went all the way to Little Whinging.

 

So what, a taxi? The small yellow cars that Uncle Vernon hated sharing the road with, being driven by ‘those black bloody savage freaks, taking honest folk for an arm and a leg’. Though, considering how his Uncle referred to him, perhaps the man’s disapproval was a character reference all of its own. But he still couldn’t pay the driver. And a cab, which was expensive to take from one end of the city to the other, would probably cost way too much to get Harry out of the city and back to Privet Drive. 

 

There was a pay phone at the entrance of the train station, if Harry had any muggle money he could probably use it to call Uncle Vernon to come pick him up, but he wasn’t sure that that wouldn’t be as bad as the alternative.

 

Uncle Vernon might not come to pick him up. The man certainly swore often enough that the Dursleys’ should have dropped him off at some orphanage or children’s home, or left him out to die on their front stoop. Anything not to have to put up with his freakishness.

 

Or Uncle Vernon could come and pick him up, which could be worse. Harry knew his Uncle’s temper and could predict how the rest of his day, frequently more like the rest of his week, would go depending on what shade of red the man would turn upon catching sight of him in the morning. If Harry had to call Uncle Vernon from the pay phone to make the drive to London to retrieve his nephew, Harry could only imagine that the man would go straight past red and into purple at the inconvenience he, Uncle Vernon, would have to go through to pick him, Harry, up. The boy could feel his muscles and bones already aching at the thought of what he was in for.

 

Or maybe they were still healing from his last punishment.

 

There were of course worse fates than the Dursleys. The boy in the opposite corner was making some sort of deal with an older man. They were just visible from the corner bench Harry had chosen so as to avoid being trampled. He could see the boy hand a wad of paper, probably money, to the older man and the man gave him some other rolled up item. There weren’t many options for what it could be.

 

Drugs probably. The kind that make things fuzzy around the edges and smear lights in the middle, mixing up colors. There was an officer that came to the Primary school in Surrey and spoke about the problems that happened when little kids get into drugs. Problems like gangs, mobs, or hitmen; then he’d led a police dog through the entire school searching for _illegal substances_ , all they found was Erica Liezer’s Ridalin.

 

Harry curled up tighter on his bench, keeping a wary eye on his trolley, wishing fervently that he could be anywhere than where he was. There were worse things than the Dursleys and many of them could be found in train stations as the evening turned to night.

 

For a moment, Harry tucked his head into the hard point of his knees and took a deep breath in. He closed his eyes, slowly let the air out, and imagined he was somewhere safer.

 

It’d be warm. The sun high in the sky and cloudless blue as far as Harry could see. Sand wiggled between his toes, somewhere between the feel of soft mud like when the water mixed with fertilizer beneath the roses and the painful scraps that the gravel walkway dug into the fleshy parts of his feet; it might be itchy.

 

There would be water, lapping cool against his feet. Clear enough that he could squat with his face near the sea and watch the life that inhabited the waves.

 

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon wouldn’t be there, wouldn’t even know or care where Harry was. No chores or screaming would draw the young boy away from the sand and the sea and the warmth of the sun on his skin. If he wanted to be out all night in the dark no one would complain or if Harry wanted to sit on his bum and build sandcastles all day, no one would tear them down.

 

He would be happy, happier than he’d ever be with the Dursleys, but-

 

“Excuse me,” A voice interrupted from close by.

 

Harry blinked away his dream. A man squated by the bench, his face close to Harry’s but not encrouching on the boy’s space, and he smiled at Harry with both his eyes and his mouth. Unlike Aunt Petunia who most often smiled only with her mouth and not her eyes at all.

 

“Do you need help?”

 

Harry’s breath hitched, caught in his throat and he curled up as tight as he could on the bench next to his trolley.

 

Even though Harry didn’t respond the man didn’t stop smiling. Instead he reached into his pocket and flipped a thin wallet open. On the left face of the leather wallet was the silver flash of the New Scotland Yard. On the right face of the wallet was the Lion and Lamb shield of the Sentinel & Guide Agency. It was different than the image in his textbooks and the young wizard couldn’t help but reach out just a little to see what it felt like.

 

“You’ve never seen one have you?” the man hummed under his breath and reach into the wallet to pick the heavy metal disk out. “Do you know what it means?”

 

“Sentinel and Guide.” Harry whispered.

 

“Mhmm,” the man nodded and turned ever so slightly so Harry could see another man, feet spread and arms crossed standing all the way on the other side of the train station lobby. “That’s my Sentinel. He’s a bit of a grump though, and pretty intimidating even when he doesn’t want to be,” the Guide winked to Harry as the Sentinel’s frown got a little more intense. “See? Even across the room I can’t get him to make a good impression! He’s eavesdropping!”

 

“Isn’t that what Sentinels do?” Harry whispered. “They listen, look, smell, taste, and feel. Wouldn’t it be difficult not to?”

 

The man, the guide, studied Harry with soft eyes and a small smile. Looking at him, like _he_ was the Sentinel and capable of seeing straight through to the young wizard’s insides. “Quite right; my Sentinel can’t help but follow me as far as he can with any of his sense. Though I’m not certain he tries that hard not to.” He winked and Harry hid his face back between his knees.

 

Why didn’t the man leave? Everyone else left, walked away, ignored him, just the way he liked it. Uncle Vernon couldn’t what he didn’t see. He couldn’t hurt Harry if he didn’t know the boy was there. Everyone else in the train station, even the older man who’d given something to the boy with money, hadn’t done more than cast an unseeing gaze over the bench that the young wizard had claimed.

 

Was it something to do with being a Guide? Perhaps magic didn’t work on sentinels and guides. That would make sense. They were protectors of the community, they wouldn’t be able to protect anything if magic could fool them.

 

“Are you waiting for someone, lad?” the guide asked, still kneeling beside the trolley full of magic. “Do you have number, we could call and see what’s keeping them?” The guide slipped a cell phone from his pocket, flipped it open and thumbed the numbers, ready to dial if Harry would tell him the number.

 

“No.” He whispered, curling tighter into a ball. “No ones coming for me.”

 

"Now, lad, I don't believe that." The Guide said. "Surely your family is looking for you, they're just not here yet."

 

"No," Harry turned away from the kind man and his smiling eyes. He didn't want to be reminded anymore, of what he didn't have. "Uncle Vernon says I cost them too much money. I eat too much, don't work hard enough, one day he said he'd leave me on the curb." All Harry wanted was to go back to that warm place in his dream. "He won't come."

 

"What's your name, boy-o." A new voice murmured, "If you don't tell us we'll have to come up with one for you- it won't be pretty."

 

"That for sure," the kind man- the guide- chuckled, "Last time Henry had to name something he called them Spot. Going on four years now."

 

"Man finally told us his name," the second voice, Harry hadn't looked up but he figured if he did, he'd probably see the Sentinel from across the train station. That man hadn't looked patient. "Don't effing remember it, he's been Spot to damn long to change now. You don't want to be Spot do you?"

 

"Come now, Caleb." The guide laughed, "This one doesn't look anything like a 'Spot'. Surely we can do better?"

 

"Reckon you're right." The Sentinel, Caleb, gruffed. "Hmm. He could be a 'Blackie' or a 'Night', think he could pull off 'Bat'?"

 

"Bat? This is what I get for letting you exchange comic books with that bloke from across the pond. Honestly, next you're going to suggest 'Superman'. Does he look like a comic book hero to you?"

 

"I don't know. It's not like Superman just appeared all grown up, or Batman either, they were kids once too."

 

The Sentinel-Guide pair continued on like that for several minutes. Getting more and more ridiculous with both suggestions and rebuttals, until Harry couldn't take it anymore.

 

"Harry." He blurted in between volleys from the Sentinel and Guide. He tucked his head back into his knees and mumbled, "Harry Potter."

 

"It's nice to meet you, Harry Potter." The guide was smiling and holding out his hand when the young wizard peeked from his hiding place. "I am Guide Michael Tannerson, and this is my Sentinel, Caleb Hale."

 

"Aye," the Sentinel said, a wrinkle creasing the skin of the older man's browline. "You look much more like a Harry than a Spot. Glad you gave us your name laddie."

 

"Now, Harry," Guide Tannerson ran his fingers through already messed up black curls. "Why don't we try calling your guardians? Has to be better than spending the night in the train station, right? Don't you miss your bed?"

 

Harry shrugged, he hadn't had a bed for long enough to miss it, and certainly not the scratchy worn and stained sheets his Aunt shoved at him for it. He missed the quiet of his cupboard, the way no one else in the house could fit in it, and he missed the way that when the lights went out in the hall after his Aunt went to bed, that the dark filled his cupboard and he could close his eyes and paint it with whatever picture he could imagine. Like his safe warm happy dream. Dudley's second bedroom had a window, and as novel as the experience was, looking out over the neighborhood houses at night to see all the light on, he missed that quiet and complete dark from under the stairs.

 

"Alright, son." Sentinel Hale said, reaching across his guide, tucking one arm behind Harry and the second under the boy's knees. "Let's see if we can't get you home."

 

Turning back just once, Harry made sure that his stuff, the stuff his parents had left money to make sure he could get. The stuff that he was sure his parents wanted him to have, was following too. But Guide Tannerson had a firm grip on the overpacked trolley and was pushing it along beside the Sentinel. Nothing was getting left behind, not even Harry.

 

They ended up at a police station just down the street from Charing Cross. The Sentinel-Guide pair sat at a desk filling out paperwork and Harry sipped a very sweet cup of hot chocolate.

 

He drank slowly. Letting the foam and cream on top touch his lips first and then slowly tipping the mug so that the deliciously warm liquid snuck into his mouth from under the foam. Harry let it sit in his mouth as he simply pressed the warm mug into his hands and against his cheek, before slowly swallowing the chocolatey substance. It might have been the middle of the Summer, but Harry had never had something so wonderful in all his life. Not even the strange pumpkiny drink he'd had at lunch in the pub with Hagrid. This was amazing.

 

"Enjoying your drink, Harry?" Guide Tannerson asked with a peculiar look on his face. It looked almost like he was caught between smiling and frowning. Harry hoped he didn't stay like that. It was hard decide how to respond when the adult didn't show how he felt.

 

But Harry nodded anyways from where he was curled up in a large chair meant for much larger adults. "I've never had hot chocolate before."

 

"Never?" Sentinel Hale asked, his brow rising in question. Perhaps the adult didn't believe him. It wouldn't be the first time that an adult thought Harry was lying. He just hoped they didn't tell Uncle Vernon, the man got touchy over some of the things people thought about Harry. To the young wizard it was more than confusing. 

 

"Dudley gets it," Harry shrugged, "in the winter, after he comes in from playing in the snow. Aunt Petunia always puts those colorful mini marshmallows on top."

 

"But not you?" The Sentinel turned to give Harry all his attention but the boy didn't like it, freezing in his seat with the mug half in front of his face. Harry didn't know what to do. But the older man just swung his seat back towards his computer to type something else into the report. "Not allergic are you?"

 

"No." Harry whispered, he swallowed and then carefully straightened in his seat. "No, I just don't get any."

 

For so long the sharp sting of Aunt Petunia's palm, the heavey weight of Uncle Vernon's fist. The frown on teachers' faces as they looked for the behavior his Aunt and Uncle swore was there. Harry had been so careful for so long, not to bring attention to himself, not to make liers out of his guardians, but, as he finished the most delicious drink in the world, Harry figured everything else was changing, maybe this could too. There was magic in the world afterall, and he was going to learn it.

 

"Can you take me h-home now," Harry swallowed in a suddenly tight throat. Squeezing his fists in his lap, this was harder than he'd thought. "I didn't mean to be a bother, and it's late."

 

Sentinel and Guide, of one mind, quietly observed where Harry sat straight in the guest chair, but with a bowed head. They didn't think for one moment that a mug of hot chocolate had changed anything about what the boy thought or felt about his Aunt and Uncle. Meaning, that he must have thought of something else to change his mind. Those sorts of ideas were rarely good for the thinker.

 

"Sure, Harry-boy. What's the address?"

 

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

 

It was a bit of drive from London out to Surrey, but in the middle of the night, with so little traffic, there wasn't much holding them back.

 

"So before we return you to your Aunt and Uncle," Harry stiffened in the back seat. While the two men had been very nice to him, they would be gone in a little while and it would be back to normal for Harry. At least until September 1st. "Do you have any questions about Sentinels or Guides? Maybe something you think is embarassing? I promise, nobody has to know you asked, and if you promise to keep it a secret-" Guide Tannerson trailled off.

 

"Why do you do it?" Harry stared out at the passing neighborhoods. He couldn't help but think that in each one of them there was a family like the Dursleys with their own Harry in his own cupboard under the stairs. Unfortunately for most, if not all the other Harrys, there would be no magic to save them. "My teachers say that its instinct, like something in your head compels you to do something; but that's not fair. Nobody asked you if you wanted to be a Sentinel and Guide; can you turn it off, ignore it?"

 

"It's not fair." Sentinel Hale said as he pulled up in front of #4 Privet Drive. "And people do repeat their mistakes over and over again. And nobody asked us if we wanted to be what we were, but Harry, honestly-" Harry met the older man's eyes as he turned in his seat. "If there's one thing I've learned over the years, its that I probably would have been in the thick of it anyways. Evil doesn't happen spontaneously, the terrorists and wars fought all over the world, they happen and escalate and innocent people get hurt because the people with the skills to help sit back and say shit like: not my circus, not my monkeys."

 

"I have the skills, the knowledge; even before I came online as a Sentinel I was involved in the work of one, and the only thing that changed for me was that I could better protect my friends and family from any evil, big like bombs, or small like pickpockets, now that my senses are enhanced." He shrugged ackwardly in his twisted lean. "Evil happens because good men do nothing, and I am not giving Evil an excuse to park its arse in my neighborhood. Understand?"

 

"So you help just because you can?"

 

"We help," Guide Tannerson said, "because it should never be okay to hurt another person, and we're going to make that it never is. Not even little boys who've never had hot chocolate." He opened the door and stepped out. "Let's go. Your family is waiting."

 

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were standing just inside the front door scowling like the Sentinel and Guide pair were wiping muddy shoes on a new white carpet. "What are you doing back? Thought you'd be gone for good!"

 

"No," Harry shook his head, "Mr. Hagrid told you I'd be back. Told you to pick me up at the train station."

 

"That fr-"

 

"We must have miss heard then." Petunia casually jabbed her elbow into the blubber around her husband's substantial girth. "Who are you then?"

 

"New Scotland Yard." Sentinel Hale growled. "I'm Sentinel Hale and my partner, Guide Tannerson."

 

"Harry," Guide Tannerson shot him a simple smile, "Do you think you can get your stuff up the stairs, or do you need help?"

 

"I think I can handle it."

 

"Then why don't you do that," sharp edges appeared in Tannerson's smile as he turned back to the other adults. "Caleb and I have some things we'd like to discuss with your relatives."

 

It was impossible for Harry to linger one staircase, which was right in view, and since his trunk made an obnoxious thump and rattle all the way up the stairs and into his new bedroom, he couldn’t creep and listen at the top either. At least not before his trunk actually made it into the spare room. The thing was, Harry new the Sentinel & Guide pair were upset. He could vaguely hear the voices rise and dip even from in his room. Harry just couldn’t figure out why.

 

Perhaps they were more upset over the wasted gas money than he’d thought? Even though they offered to drive him out to Surrey, maybe they were trying to get his relatives to pay for the gas. Or maybe- maybe-, Harry sighed, he didn’t know.

 

Crouched like a tiny gargoyle at the top of the stairs, Harry listened to the conversation in the living room.

 

“I don’t care who you are!” Aunt Petunia shreiked, “You have no right to tell me what to do in my own house! That sewer rat is a burden on my household and I will treat him the way he deserves!”

 

“That _sewer rat_ ,” Harry could hear the sneer in Tannerson’s voice, “is a little boy who should be loved and cared for. If you treat him like a demon, then he’s gonna act like a demon.”

 

“And it may not matter to you know, Mrs. Dursley, who we are.” Sentinel Hale said, “But we will be watching, very very carefully. Now, we’re going to go up and say goodbye to the kid upstairs before we’re out of your hair- for now.”

 

The little boy scurried back into the spare bedroom, but didn’t bother to close or lock the door. Adults would just open it.

 

That was how the two policemen found their lost boy, sitting carefully on the dull threadbare blanket that covered the twin mattress in the storage room. Looking a little like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

 

“We’ve come to say goodbye, Harry.” Tannerson smiled. To Harry it was like a warmth leaked back into the room from somewhere else. Like the Sun touching flowers first thing in the morning. Harry couldn’t help but smile back.

 

“I know, you’re leaving.”

 

“Hopefully not forever, though.” Hale said. He pulled from his pocket a creamy colored business card. “I’m gonna give you this card. It’s got several different ways to reach us. If you ever need help or get in trouble, use the numbers on this card. We’ll answer.”

 

“Besides,” Tannerson said, completing his brief tour of the room. “You’re going to school soon right? You’re going to have to write us. We want to hear all about it.”

 

“All of it.” Hale nodded.

 

As they left, Harry got the distinct impression that for once in his life, he might see those two again.

 

Of course, they hadn’t made Harry’s life easy. Especially in the next few days, everything seemed to go from bad to worse. Uncle Vernon made him drag his trunk back down the stairs and lock it in the cupboard. And Dudley suddenly spent more time than ever chasing him around, going Harry Hunting with his friends. But it was nothing worse than had been happening before, and always there was the hope of Hogwarts at the end of the summer. The light at the end of the tunnel was getting closer and closer.

 


End file.
